Impermanence
by summerartist
Summary: Dr. Bashir's recent fatigue seems to be attracting a lot of attention. His friends think that he should take some time off, but life on Deep Space Nine was never considered to be relaxing.
1. Chapter 1

Author Notes: Writing this story was just considered a fun diversion for me. Any feedback you have would be fantastic, even if it's just confirmation that the DS9 fandom is not dead. I update regularly, since I finish my stories before I start posting.

This story takes place sometime around the beginning of season 2.

* * *

After a long day of research and reports, Julian Bashir was walking back to his quarters. Despite the hard work, he felt chipper. He walked with a slight skip in his step, and a friendly smile plastered on his face. He was even contemplating a detour to Quark's for a few rounds of holosuite tennis. His comm badge chirped and he answered it promptly.

"Sisko to Bashir."

"Go ahead, Commander."

"We're receiving a visitor from Starfleet Academy Medical on the next shuttle that will land on docking bay 18. I thought that you might want to go greet one of the passengers." Sisko's voice managed to sound enthusiastic over the tinny comm. Bashir started to become curious.

"Who will I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"He said that I should keep it a surprise, but I'll give you a clue. He's one of your professors and one of the most prestigious in the academy."

Bashir's face split into a wide grin. A high ranking professor of his was visiting Deep Space Nine! He hoped that it would be Dr. Granbury or Dr. Wilton. It could even be the famous Dr. Cardin.

"On my way. Bashir out."

Grinning like a fool, he turned tail and went towards the sections of airlocks near the promenade. It was about time for an evening snack and here he would have a good view of disembarking passengers when the ship came in. He sat at his usual spot in the replimat and read. Usually, Garak would sit with them here to watch everyone milling about. He took the same spot out of a combination of fondness and habit.

He was reading Garak's latest find. Bashir had been utterly gobsmacked when he realized that Cardassians wrote poetry. The tailor had kindly found a collection of classic poems for him and sent them to his PADD to read at his leisure. Eventually, he put down his PADD of Cardassian poetry to fetch a cup of tea. Before he had set the teacup down, the airlock whooshed open and a crowd of humans and Bajorans came through. Bashir abandoned his tea and visually scanned the crowd. He started walking towards them and stopped short.

"Dr. Harcourt!" He said softly.

Bashir stared on, dumbfounded. Somehow, he was heard over the commotion of voices and a short humanoid turned to face him.

"Ah! My dear Dr. Julian Bashir."

Bashir's face twisted in an expression that looked as if he was about to sneeze, but then his features smoothed out into professional politeness. His Professor looked the same as he ever did, but with a few more wrinkles now that he was past middle age. His hair was bleached blond and his bright blue eyes were still suffering from slight strabismus. On the professor's face was an indulgent smile. He joined Bashir.

"Working on the most famous base in the quadrant is quite a step up for you. Are you certain you don't need any help? How have you been feeling?"

"I am managing fine, sir." Bashir smiled welcomingly, but without emotion in his eyes.

"Yes, I am sure you are. You always did work hard, but make sure not to push yourself too much, Julian. You look tired." He said warmly.

Bashir had to force himself to turn away to hide his reaction to the words.

"I'll take note of that. Should you like me to show you to a shop on the promenade or maybe some guest quarters?"

"Some guest quarters would be just the thing. Perhaps on a deck somewhere more quiet. Your Klingon problem must turn away quite a lot of business. They are rather an enthusiastic bunch."

"Indeed." Bashir walked him to the turbolift and they got in.

"It is good to see a familiar face here, Julian. How are things with Commander Sisko and Major Kira? I hear that they are two of the higher ranking officers here. I hope you haven't gone off in a dalliance with that Bajoran girl."

Harcourt was shaking his head with disapproval as if Bashir's mere presence was confirmation of the assumption.

"I understand she is beautiful and somewhat docile after the occupation of Bajor, but you must be careful not to take advantage of such things."

Bashir snapped.

"If I have romantic entanglements with anyone on this station I fail to see how it is of your concern, sir. If Major Kira and I should ever form a close relationship then it will be our prerogative to deal with the consequences."

As soon as Bashir said the words, he started to silently berate himself. He had forgotten how to deal with his professor. To be fair, he was out of practice.

"Dear me, I was not implying that I was concerned with your sense of honor! What kind of man would I be to meddle in your affairs like that? I trust that you do not think ill of me, Julian."

"Of course not, sir."

The lift arrived on the deck with their best spare rooms. Bashir was thanking his lucky stars that he would soon be rid of the man.

"I am looking forward to discussing everything that has been happening on this station with Commander Sisko. I trust that you are keeping the sickbay well organized. You always did seem to get a trifle overwhelmed with your work. Maybe I could stop by and help you get things into proper order tomorrow."

Julian found him an empty set of quarters and recorded the filled vacancy on his data pad.

"You are welcome at any time, sir. Please keep in mind that I will be very busy tomorrow. I have a lot of reports to do that the commander wants by the end of the week."

Julian opened the door for him and Dr. Harcourt walked through only to pause.

"Why do you not have them done? Do you need some advice? I'll come tomorrow and check them over. Sisko is not a man to be kept waiting."

"I'll be done with them by tonight and edit them tomorrow morning. Don't trouble yourself, sir. Thank you for the offer."

Bashir breathed a sigh of relief when the door slid shut on its own accord. Julian's enthusiastic display was extinguished like a dying candle flame. He walked back to his quarters, frowning darkly. Dr. Harcourt had not even done anything yet to upset him, but Julian would not fool himself into thinking that all of their future interactions would be as pleasant as that.

Where Dr. Harcourt appeared, Bashir's reputation and social standing soon plummeted. Dr. Bashir had come to admire and respect Commander Sisko, and now he was quickly regretting his hero worship of the man who would soon be deceived by Harcourt. These events had happened before. Harcourt was a compulsive liar and rumor spreading fanatic. Those who had been mentors to Bashir at the academy had turned against him. His friends and fellow students had no longer trusted him.

Deep Space Nine had started to feel so much like home. He had hoped that feeling would last, but it seemed that fate had other plans.

* * *

True to his word, Dr. Harcourt had entered Julian's domain the next morning, and had insisted on "helping" him with his reports in the semblance of doing him a favor. Bashir had gritted his teeth and made the revisions, but the man's interference had not stopped there. He started giving him advice on arranging his patient files in the computer banks. In response, Bashir practiced a little deception. He created a program that made it appear as if he had arranged his files according to Harcourt's advice. The doctor had praised him and had told him in a condescending tone that he was a better disciplined man now, and that he was becoming a true professional.

Dr. Bashir had borne all of these events with practiced stoicism. He held his tongue. A few times, Bashir had walked in on Dr. Harcourt talking with Dax and Kira. Their conversations had always quickly stopped after he entered the room. The Major had pulled him aside at one point and told him to keep his chin up. The advice had baffled him, until he saw Major Kira actively avoiding Harcourt, sometimes taking pains to make it noticeable that she was walking in the opposite direction. The Major, it seemed, could spot a liar and a schemer. The question was if Bashir's other friends and fellow officers had as much instinct. Dr. Harcourt had then talked with Sisko. Bashir did not have knowledge of their conversations, but all the while, dread stirred within him.

After a couple of the most tense and watchful days of his life, Bashir had fallen back into his usual routine. His routine included having lunch with Garak and a rousing literature debate. He was a little more subdued these past few days, to the point where he no longer enjoyed their conversations. With tired eyes and a sagging posture, he had joined the tailor for their shared meal. Garak had made no comment on his appearance, but had immediately started discussing their shared reading with the doctor.

"Was Cardassian poetry everything that you had been expecting?"

"Yes. I don't think I've seen more Cardassian patriotism in my life. It was starting to sound suspiciously brimming with honor and pride like a Klingon."

"Do lower your voice, doctor. I would hate for that opinion to get back to Gul Dukat or any of the Obsidian Order." Garak whispered.

"I won't tell if you don't. Poetry is serious business."

"That almost sounded like sarcasm, dear doctor."

Bashir's eye twitched in a strange manner.

"Is there something the matter? What did I say that upset you?"

"I'm not upset. I just forgot how you call me 'dear' doctor." He emphasized.

"Is that a problem? You never seemed to mind before."

"I don't mind. Forget it, Garak." Bashir took a large swallow of his coffee.

"Really, you should tell me whatever is on your mind so much lately. It seems to be having a detrimental effect on you. Is it that newly arrived doctor friend of yours?

Bashir choked on his beverage and hastily lowered the cup.

"How do you know about him?"

"Word gets around. As a matter of fact, I've been considering paying him a visit. He needs a welcome that would leave him without a doubt about how things are done on this station."

"What?"

Bashir gaped at his friend while the Cardassian explained with uncharacteristic aggression in his eyes. Gone was the cold calculating gaze, in its place was something more primal.

"Well, what am I to presume here? The man shows up on this station and suddenly you look like 'death warmed over' as your culture calls it. You look like you haven't been sleeping adequately. You consume caffeine at an alarming rate and you hardly eat. If this scoundrel has harmed you…"

"Garak!" Bashir sputtered with surprise and amusement.

"Don't read me wrongly. I am aware that your combat training has made you a formidable opponent to someone as inexperienced as that Harcourt fellow, but I will not allow you be subjected to any of his threats or mistreatment."

"Garak! He hasn't harmed me or threatened me. You have my word. Good heavens, I do believe that you have become a veritable mother bear over me." Bashir laughed.

Bashir continued to stare at the Cardassian incredulously. For all Garak's display of calm and serenity, he projected the exact opposite while in his element.

"A mother bear? Perhaps. I do not abide by someone intimidating my lunch partner for their personal amusement."

Garak seemed to calm down then, leaning back in his chair.

"If you say that he has done nothing, then I shall believe you. But if that changes, I trust you will take the appropriate actions."

Bashir smiled, still pleasantly surprised by his friend. He might have expected a speech like that from Dax or O'Brien, but it sounded bizarre coming from the tailor.

"I'm not entirely helpless, you know."

"I know; which is why I let you brave Cardassian poetry like you wanted. Was there any particular poem that you liked? I'm curious."

Garak hastily jumped back to their literature topic. Despite how uncomfortable the conversation had gotten, Bashir could also detect that the Cardassian was genuinely interested in his opinion. Bashir considered carefully what he remembered.

"The one about the Bajoran waterfalls was pleasant. It almost sounded like something by Robert Frost."

"I assume he was a skilled poet?"

"Yes. Come to think of it, he could be dark and mysterious like a Cardassian at times. His descriptions were always very eloquent."

"At least it did not remind you of something from Brontë." Garak smirked.

"I can't believe you know Brontë but not Frost."

"I am a selective reader of Terran literature. The authors that attract the most attention are not necessarily my first choice."

"Evidently." Bashir gave a subtle sigh and hung his head.

"You look fatigued."

"I'll be fine. Ugh, it must be the lingering effects of the transporter I used a few hours ago. Commander Sisko wanted me to check on some of our latest Bajorin visitors that arrived. Several of them had long term chronic medical conditions and they couldn't get out of the ship in the dock. Their vessel hatch was jammed so I had to beam onto their ship." Julian pinched the bridge of his nose as if experiencing a headache.

"It is strange that they decided to travel to the station while their health was in such danger."

"They wanted to see the Emissary, and the wormhole. It's supposed to be the home of the prophets. It must come as an instinct to the Bajorans to seek out the divine when they're ill."

"And then they make more work for you by coming here. It seems that you've been 'getting the short end of the stick,' as you humans call it,this past week." Garak quirked an eye ridge.

"I don't mind it. I'm dedicated to my work and they need someone to look after their wellbeing while at the station."

"At the expense of your own wellbeing?"

Bashir flapped a hand impatiently.

"The Bajorans aren't the problem. Dr. Harcourt has been making sure that I'm kept on my toes all hours of the day. I'll be glad when he leaves. The man is an absolute menace when it comes to spreading false rumors and trying to compete with another medical professional." Bashir griped.

"I thought he was your mentor? Why should he feel the need to compete?"

"I have no idea. I can't even begin to fathom what goes on in his mind. I've got to get back to sickbay or he'll go running to Sisko, telling him I've been remiss in my duties."

Bashir stood, picking up his half full coffee cup.

"You've been here for 15 minutes! Surely you are exaggerating." The tailor frowned.

"He's already gone to Sisko after that one time I talked with you near the end of my shift. The Commander placated him with a promise that I've always done my job and kept on top of things, but Harcourt won't quit until he has found something to complain to Starfleet about. I'll meet with you next Tuesday or stop by your shop."

Garak watched the doctor leave with a discontented expression. Bashir walked like he was aching with stress and fatigue. In addition, something about Bashir was dispirited, like he had been taken down a peg or two. The situation did not sit right with the Cardassian, who was used to his avid, energetic conversation partner. Something about this situation did not feel right at all.


	2. Chapter 2

The promenade was as crowded as it usually was during the afternoon. Federation officers were just getting off of work to go home to their families or do a little shopping and socializing to relax after a long day.

Odo stood guard, pacing and stretching his legs every now and then. It gave him personal satisfaction to see the individuals walking safely home after a productive day. To know that he held their lives in his protective hands would have felt giddying to any other individual, but not to Odo. The security chief merely felt the strong sense of responsibility and appropriateness of the situation.

The Bajorians were milling about in their earthy colored clothes, intermingling with the various Starfleet workers. A pale gray face stood out in the crowd. Garak approached the restless security chief. He gave Odo a wan smile that appeared friendly, but seemed cold and formal at the same moment.

"Constable, might I have a word?"

Odo gave a solemn nod. He eyed the Cardassian calculatingly. The Cardassian tailor might have given him very little trouble in the past, but enough rumors were flying around about him to make Odo suspicious about his true occupation.

"About my friend, Doctor Bashir…" Garak gave a deliberate pause.

"Yes?" Odo snapped irritably.

If the tailor was going to be all mysterious while imparting information, he might a well do it at a less leisurely pace.

"Constable, I might suggest directing your attention towards him."

"The doctor? You've been stitching for too long if you are seriously suggesting that Bashir is up to criminal acts." Odo gave a derisive snort.

"Oh, no no no. I would never attribute criminal acts to the doctor. I merely suggest that you keep an eye trained on him. Good friends always look after each other's interests, do they not?"

"If he is not engaged in conspiracies then why should I keep watch on him? Is he being threatened?"

"Nothing of the sort, my good fellow. If you set your sights on him, that is enough for me. Well, I must return to my premises. A tailor's business can be surprisingly industrious on a large station such as this one. A good day to you." Garak gave him a parting nod and ambled back towards his shop on the promenade.

Odo narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Cardassian's back. The unlikely friendship of the doctor and the tailor was common knowledge on the space station, but this was the first time he had heard Garak acknowledge it. Theirs was an odd sort of friendship, as far as the shapeshifter could determine. They carried on a continual verbal game of cat and mouse. Bashir wanted confirmation that Garak was a spy, but Garak would only tease and hint at his previous occupation. To what purpose the doctor would need the information, Odo was at a loss. Still, they seemed to take pride in their bickering. Humans were just as odd as Cardassians to him at times.

Odo came to the conclusion that he should have a talk with Bashir, not necessarily about Garak's warning, but a conversation might give him better insight as to the tailor's concerns. What concerned a former spy should concern Odo as well. The head of security walked into Quark's, looking for Bashir at his usual table after work.

The doctor did not often go to Quark's by himself, but it was worth the gamble to check there. He surveyed the large room full of different life forms. The customers were gambling, chatting, and flirting in their usual display of vices. In one quick glance of the premisis, he noted the lack of any Federation science officer. He nearly bumped into the owner of the establishment as soon as he entered.

"Odo, for the love of- Are you trying to use brute force as your new interrogation method? I think you bruised a lobe." Quark touched one of his large ears on his bulbous head, wearing a pained expression.

"If I came here to question you, you would know it, Quark. Taking you into custody will have to wait for another time. I was looking for the doctor."

"Bashir? He hasn't come in today. I haven't seen him all week, as a matter of fact. He's been holed up in the infirmary."

"Indeed." Odo replied shortly.

"Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?" Quark sounded intrigued.

"No. There are some citizens on this station that earn an honest living, believe it or not."

"His loss. He could do with the money. Starfleet doctors." Quark shook his head in a show of exaggerated sympathy. "Now, if he wanted to earn a profit, he should have abandoned Starfleet altogether and created an establishment."

"I think it inadvisable for you to be issuing life advice. Frankly ridiculous, in fact."

"Why Odo," Quark clutched dramatically at his chest, sending the security officer a grin, "That breaks the heart. We both know how dull your life would become without me on this station. If you had a few more Ferengi here, your existence would be that much more interesting."

"Heaven forbid." The security chief groaned.

Odo shook his head, making ready to leave. It seemed he would have to look for Bashir at another time. Meanwhile, he had some security duties to wrap up.

"I'll let you know if the Doc shows up." Quark called after him.

"Do." Odo strode out.

* * *

Odo did not forget Garak's advice, but nor did he hunt down the doctor. He knew when to respect privacy and when to wait and watch. He saw Bashir once in Ops the next morning. It was a brief encounter, and he did not even get a look at Bashir's face. Admittedly, he did not even know what he was looking for. Perhaps the doctor would be showing indicators of stress, depending on whatever danger stalked him.

Bashir had been working on something at the computer with Dax. Odo supposed he could have asked him then if something was the matter, but the opportunity or lull in affairs never arose. However, Odo did find him in time when their shifts ended. He followed the doctor down from Ops. They had taken the lift together and proceeded down to the promenade. The doctor stood tense in his presence, acting like a dog with its hackles raised. Odo was surveying him too intently for his liking. Attention from the security chief never preluded anything good.

"Is it just me, or do you seem to be dogging my footsteps, constable?"

"A friend mentioned that you might be in some sort of trouble."

"Trouble?"

While Bashir turned an utterly perplexed expression towards him, Odo finally got a good look at his features. Bashir had lost weight. He looked gaunt and rough around the edges. He had managed to shave and did not have his five-o-clock shadow, but the rest of him was unkempt. His uniform was slightly rumpled and his hair was defying gravity. His eyes were shadowed with sleeplessness and they held a glazed look that did not focus on anything in particular.

The lift stopped, and Bashir and Odo walked out onto the busy deck. Odo carefully schooled back any indications of his surprise. He was used to displaying a reaction so that humans could read his features, but now was not the time to show emotion. He had decided that he should nor alarm the worn looking doctor. He had a promise to an anxious Cardassian to keep.

"Ah, I see what Garak was talking about."

"Garak? What?" Bashir stopped in his tracks and Odo stopped with him.

Bajorans bustled past them, giving the security officer a wide berth.

"He told me to keep an eye on you. Now I see why."

With features as inscrutable as his spy friend's, the doctor started walking again.

"And why is that?" Bashir sounded hoarse.

"I've seen Klingon arena fighters look healthier than you do right now."

The doctor snickered, and then his expression became serious.

"The past few days have been busy, that's all."

"Right. And Garak would have brought that to my attention because…?"

"I don't know. He's just as mysterious to you as he is to me. If you don't mind, I was on my way to find Dax. We have some computer problems to discuss." Julian replied curtly.

Bashir hurried away. His posture only slouched ever so slightly, but he walked with a surprisingly high amount of stamina.

Odo watched him curiously and with just a hint of self-derision. Perhaps Odo had been too long in the company of fretful humans. He was starting to think that he was making too much fuss about nothing. Bashir was a grown man, and a doctor no less. Still, he had been mildly alarmed whilst perceiving Bashir's state. Surely the doctor's other acquaintances had noticed?

Shaking his head as if to rid himself of thoughts of the doctor, he went back to his office. Sisko was demanding his reports sooner and sooner every week and it was endlessly irritating. The Cardassians had never bothered much with report forms. As long as he got the job done and the station was secure, they had been satisfied. The Federation forms had the most ridiculous protocol policies, and they had to receive several signatures to become valid. Security was succumbing more and more to bureaucracy all the time. There were long and pointless "reflection" sections about what happened around him whilst on duty. Squaring his shoulders and breathing an invisible sigh, he walked into his lair and shut the door to the outside world.

* * *

The next day, Odo was summoned by Jadzia Dax to her office and they held a private discussion.

"I think he would accept it if it came from you."

"I have noticed, believe me. But he won't tolerate that kind of interference. You know how he reacts when someone gets involved with his affairs."

"It's important to Kira and Benjamin too. It's just a few minutes of your time."

"More like an hour if he wants to hold a debate."

Jadzia had smiled at that.

"Which is why someone like you, who is short and to the point, would be the best choice."

The security officer had sighed.

"Very well." Odo grumbled.

"Thank you."

Odo gave a subtle eyeroll to which she smiled all the wider.

"I mean it Odo. I know you've had to adjust a lot when the Federation came on board with the Ops team. I appreciate what you've been doing for us."

Odo simply nodded, the expression in his eyes showing his acknowledgement of Jadzia Dax's words. The security officer walked out of her office and through the halls. It was a slow morning on the station. The Bajorans and the Klingons were keeping to their residences for as long as possible before going to work.

The changeling walked into the infirmary and found what he had been suspecting. Bashir was hard at work at his computer terminal near one of his desks. It looked like none of his nurses were even on the clock yet, which was an unfortunate turn of events; Odo felt like he could have used the back up. Bashir lit up when he entered, tired but alert gaze scanning him critically as if already looking for a health issue.

"Ah! Odo, how are you?" Bashir asked him.

He looked no worse than yesterday, but not better either. The security officer noticed the slight discoloration of his skin in the harsh lighting. Bashir's arms had some dark patches of skin that did not appear to be natural.

"I am well, doctor. I did not come here to seek your services, but rather to urge you to seek those services yourself."

Bashir breathed an exasperated groan.

"Not again. I told you yesterday that I was doing alright."

"Lieutenant Dax and Commander Sisko do not agree."

"Yes, well, they worry too much sometimes. I can hardly blame them after that Trill tried to kidnap Dax for her symbiote." Bashir started to arrange his tools around the room in a show of preparing for the day.

"They're not asking much. All they want is for you to do a self-diagnostic and take a couple of days off."

"Asking or ordering?" Concern started to creep into Bashir's voice.

"Not ordering as of yet, but I'm certain that if you can present them with proof that you are healthy, the matter will drop."

"What sort of proof are they talking about?"

"This is not an interrogation, doctor. It is perhaps best if you humor them and attempt to take the time off. Humanoids require many regular periods of rest. Surely you have subordinates that can take over for you while you catch up on your sleep."

"I can't." Bashir grimaced.

"Why can't you?" Odo persisted.

"Because there is a visitor on this station who is watching my movements, who wants to see signs of incompetence."

"You mean Dr. Harcourt? Why should he wish to undermine your position here? You were one of his star pupils." Odo wore a perplexed expression.

Bashir leaned against one of his lab tables, eyes taking on a troubled look.

"I _am_ one of his star students. What most people didn't know is that he nearly failed me in my Starfleet apprenticeship. His methods are unorthodox. Sure, he can mend bones and treat lacerations, but he would also bury everyone under a mountain of paperwork and try to drain Federation funds dry. He was also a fan of unnecessary surgeries."

"That sounds like typical Starfleet protocol."

"Yes, a little. But he takes it to new heights. My research was never satisfactory for him, either. He didn't care about the research itself, but he cared about whose influence it carried. The more famous the name, the better the research was to him. When he found out that I wouldn't take his advice about certain issues, he started to spread rumors about me. He gave people the impression that I was lazy and recalcitrant."

"It sounds like anyone would do poorly under his tutelage." Odo mused.

"Yes, but eventually I did my best to adhere to his obscure code of ethics and research methods. It stopped me from failing, but I think he just ran out of excuses to hold me back when everyone was adamant that I was near the top of my class."

Bashir sighed.

"Feel better?" Odo asked with a smirk.

"Yes. I suppose I was bottling that up, wasn't I?"

"You've never been one to do that, doctor." Odo smiled.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Bashir asked with a teasing smile, "You're starting to sound like Miles-Oh!"

The doctor stopped short, his fingertips digging into the lip of the table. Abruptly, he had gone very still. His eyes had glazed over with sudden pain and his body was wracked with fine tremors. Odo gave him a hand up from his chair and guided him over to sit on one of the infirmary beds. The doctor accepted the help graciously. The changeling was shaking his head. He had feared like something like this would happen. Bashir was obviously ill from the stress of recent events.

"When will your nurses and assistants get here?"

"Any minute now."

True to his word, a nurse did come into the infirmary in the next few minutes. Odo sighed with relief. The nurse seemed startled when she saw the doctor looking so unwell and sitting on one of the examination beds. She stood there, blinking, and then sprang into action. Odo stepped out of the way while the Bajoran woman helped settle Bashir down and started taking tricorder scans of him. The doctor was blinking dazedly now. He no longer seemed in pain, but the shadows under his eyes and the woman's poking and prodding looked like they were taking a toll on him. After she took the tricorder reading, she hesitated.

"Doctor." She looked intently at the readings.

"What is it? Show me!" Bashir weakly reached for the tricorder.

He stared at the results and swore under his breath. The doctor stared up at her with startled, bloodshot eyes.

"I'm being poisoned."


	3. Chapter 3

Author Notes: In this chapter some allusions are made to Bashir's unique background from season 5, but I don't delve into the topic. I want to give a special thank you to AlwaysAbby, GeorgieGinger, and Ivycat for reviewing. I don't have much in the way of patience when it comes to posting chapters, so here is another one for today.

* * *

Sisko had come to the infirmary as soon as Odo sent him the news of what had occurred. The head of security had dispatched a security bioscanner team to go over every inch of Bashir's quarters. Sisko started questioning the medical professionals, who were analyzing the traces of poison they had found on Bashir. It was a fine white powdery substance that looked like confectionary sugar at first, until they uncovered its sinister composition. The doctor had been quickly decontaminated and ordered to rest while the matter was investigated.

Sisko was determined that the doctor should remain within earshot of their debate. The doctor may be worse for wear, but he was still the head medical professional in the station. Sisko had started asking questions of the Bajoran nurse who was analyzing the poison's data. So far, they had come across several unusual elements in the poison's composition, to the like of what had never been seen before by Starfleet's data banks.

"How is the poison unique?" Sisko was trying to make sense of the charts and numbers that had flown across the monitors of their medical computers as they analyzed the toxin.

"It's the origin, sir. It comes for the Terutan planetary system, but the Federation stopped trading with them years ago. This substance is extremely rare and has only particular functions."

"Such as?"

"It targets individuals with certain kinds of genetic structure."

"In other words, my family genetics are susceptible. I think it's safe to say that the poison reached the correct target." Bashir cut in.

"You are certain you were targeted?" Sisko started to grow suspicious of Bashir's conviction.

"I am the only person on this station who has a genetic structure that allows me to be harmed by that substance. I think it is safe to assume that I was not accidentally contaminated by a trader from the Terutan System. According to the constable's records, no one at this station has been there recently, ."

Julian shifted around on the bed, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. His shadowed eyes betrayed his exhaustion and pain. The commander's brow furrowed slightly as he surveyed the doctor.

"Are you going to make a full recovery?"

"I'll be fine in a few days. Nurse Hia'tal, can you bring me another blanket? It's a bit chilly in here."

They were interrupted by the door sliding open. Everyone looked up to see Garak stride in. He was wearing one of his ridiculous dark yellow outfits with puffed sleeves and a slightly perturbed look on his face. He surveyed all of them and turned to Bashir.

"Doctor, I was about to invite you to lunch, but it appears I am interrupting something. There is a security team keeping guard on the door. Somehow, I don't think the constable has set a guard on you to make sure you stay in bed." Garak was scanning them all with a slightly narrowed gaze.

The tailor shifted slightly closer to Bashir. His hand twitched at his side and Bashir realized that Garak was instinctively reaching for a phaser that was not there. The doctor had noticed the instinctual habit before; he had just never understood the purpose. He concluded that the Cardassian's observations must be alerting him to danger. Bashir hastened to explain.

"Constable Odo is conducting an investigation. I've been poisoned this past week in small doses. I should be fine after a few days, provided I don't come in contact with the poison again. We've been able to heal most of the damage."

The Cardassian blinked several times, but seemed to quickly string his thoughts together.

"Have you any suspects?"

"I don't have any at this time, Mr. Garak. But rest assured that the culprit will not go unpunished. Dr. Bashir's quarters are being scanned. Perhaps the doctor should relocate. The infirmary could have traces of the poison as well." Odo started to eye their surroundings with distrust.

"Good idea. Perhaps the doctor should stay with a friend while we get this situation cleared up. We can't risk him coming into contact with that substance." Sisko said with conviction.

"O'Brien would be a logical choice." Odo nodded.

"I beg your pardon, but the chief engineer is otherwise occupied with family matters. However, I would not object to a houseguest if Dr. Bashir would find the arrangement suitable?" Garak looked to the doctor, awaiting his approval.

"I could be just as safe with guarded guest quarters. I'm not in the best physical condition right now, and I don't want to subject anyone to becoming my nurse." Bashir frowned.

The day that Garak looked after him would be the day that hell froze over. The tailor might feel righteous fury over him whenever he was threatened, but he was not the type to keep a vigil on someone. Bashir had never liked feeling helpless in front of an audience, regardless if the audience was a close friend.

"Your condition is what makes you in need of the protection and company, doctor. Unless you have no further objections, I want you to take Mr. Garak up on his offer." Sisko said firmly.

Sisko knew he was making the right decision by pushing for Bashir to stay with the tailor. He remembered how that on the first day the doctor met Garak, Bashir had become animated. His face had lit up like he had just found a long lost friend. Since their meeting, the two had often been seen sharing lunch and engaging in philosophical debates and discussions about literature. The Commander had also seen the subtle protective body language Garak displayed towards the doctor and the agitation the Cardassion hid behind his passive façade. Sisko was convinced that the tailor was not the one who had tried to kill Bashir.

"I am going to go check on the work crews. For now, we will be delaying traffic leaving the station until this situation has been resolved." Sisko left the room and Odo followed him.

Bashir glanced over at his Cardassian friend after they left. Garak raised an eye ridge.

* * *

Their trek through the halls had been strenuous on Bashir's body. He had staggered several times and Garak had to stop him from falling. Bashir supposed that they must have made an amusing sight, human and Cardassian walking side by side, with the tailor keeping an eye on his movements. The doctor had put up a mild fight when the Cardassian had insisted on carrying his bag of medicines and equipment for him. Bashir was uneasy about the fact that Garak would probably insist on administering his shots and doing his tricorder scans. Julian supposed that the saying "doctors make the worst patients" had some validity.

The tailor's quarters were small and secluded next to his shop. Bashir had been inside the rooms a couple of times, but this was hardly a social call. He was very aware that he was not playing his caregiver role, or even that of a visiting friend.

When they entered, Bashir went towards one of the chairs and sat down. It was a rickety old wooden thing that appeared to be second-hand and Bashir was momentarily confused by its presence among Garak's newer furniture. If such an item had been in a humanoid household, he would have considered it to be of nostalgic value to the owner. Garak did not seem like the kind of individual that would keep furniture passed down from his family. Not for the first time, Bashir stated to mentally evaluate just how much he knew about the Cardassian.

Bashir kicked off his shoes and curled his long legs up, trying to get comfortable. One thing was for certain,he mused; he was not going to take the tailor's bed from him. He was determined not to impose. Bashir was unwilling to let a little poison bring him down. Or at least, that is what he kept telling himself.

Unknown to Bashir, Garak was at a loss of what to do. The human had strode to Garak's mother's old chair, curled up in it, and had stared into the distance. The tailor went unobtrusively to his side and placed Bashir's medical bag on the side table beside him. Garak retreated quietly and puzzled over the doctor's behavior. Bashir was eerily silent, which was uncharacteristic of his sociable nature. He reminded Garak of himself at that moment, so tight lipped and serious. The Cardassian wondered how often how often he had sat in that chair looking just as stony. He could not blame Bashir for his reticence. To find out that someone was trying to kill you was a sobering thing. Perhaps the doctor needed some time to think.

The Cardassian busied himself with doing cloth orders from his digital pad. Garak sat down on one of the chairs by the viewport. He got lost in measuring how many yards of cloth he needed, determining the best hues that were in demand, and the sheerness of the fabrics. He made lists of notes and sidenotes. He became so intent on the project that he had completely forgotten that he needed to adjust the room's environmental controls for Bashir.

He glanced over, stunned at the crucial mistake he had made as a host to the ill doctor. Bashir seemed…fine. Garak surveyed him with confusion. Any other human would have complained about the stifling heat or would even be showing signs of heat exhaustion. Instead, Bashir had curled up like he was cold.

"Is the temperature suitable for you?"

"Yes."

The doctor spoke quietly. This in combination with the continued silence caused Garak to put down his PADD and watch him more closely. The heat in the room was far too intense for a human to be comfortable in. Bashir's body temperature must be fluctuating. Garak rifled through Bashir's bag of medicines until he found a tricorder. While the tailor scanned him, Bashir mustered up the strength to give him a half-hearted glare.

"You have a fever." The tailor informed him.

"My immune system is trying to fight it off naturally. Hand me my bag."

Garak did as he was asked. Bashir dug through it and retrieved the proper bottles for reducing his own fever. He was attempting to load the hypo when his hands started trembling. He fumbled with a bottle, nearly dropping it. The Cardassian stepped closer.

"Allow me."

Reluctantly, Bashir surrendered the equipment. Garak swiftly loaded the hypo, gave him the correct dosage, and administered the next fever reducer with all of the deftness of a Starfleet medical professional. The doctor watched him with suspicious bleary eyes. Garak supposed that his "I'm but a humble tailor" excuse was falling flat more and more by the minute. Bashir normally took delight in seeing proof that Garak was not what he claimed to be, but now the doctor seemed increasingly wary of him. Bashir slowly slid out of the chair and stood. He was shaking, but he appeared to be well enough to stand.

"Do you have a sofa somewhere? And no, I'm not going to be taking your bed from you."

"You would not be 'taking' it. You are ill and the Commander entrusted your comfort and wellbeing to me. I would be remiss as your host if I did not insist you rest in bed."

"A couch, please." Bashir said more firmly.

Garak sighed. The doctor was a stubborn man.

"I have one in my bed chambers."

Bashir gave him a grateful nod and slipped into the next room. Garak arranged the medical equipment back in the case and went to go turn down the temperature in his quarters. He had the uneasy feeling that this was going to be a long road to recovery and Bashir would make it difficult for the both of them.


	4. Chapter 4

"So, how has your lizard friend been treating you?" Chief O'Brien asked.

"I would be careful calling him that. Word might get back to him."

"True, he could very well be a suspect." Miles mumbled.

Chief O'Brien had come over to visit him the next day. Bashir had not moved from his spot on the sofa, but his fever had gradually relinquished its hold on him. He was still tired and slightly irritable. Garak had gone to work on his projects in his shop for a short time. He had left a communicator with Bashir that he could use in case of emergency while he talked to his engineering friend.

"Have there been any leads yet?"

Chief O'Brien shook his head.

"No, but they did find a lot of the poison scattered about in your room and traces of it in the surgery. It's all gone now. I don't think I've ever seen the Commander personally oversee the decontamination of a room before."

"An attack on the station is a personal thing for him." The doctor mumbled.

"I think it has to do more with the fact that it's you. I mean, you're a healer, not a weapons man. Whoever did this was a right bastard." O'Brien said darkly.

Bashir said nothing, just blinked wearily.

"You look terrible. Do you need anything?" O'Brien looked lost. It was unusual for the energetic, chatty doctor to be so solemn.

"Dax?"

"You want to see her?"

Bashir nodded.

"She's on duty right now, but I'll get her as soon as her shift ends. Is there something you wanted her to do?"

The doctor closed his eyes and mumbled something that sounded like a negative. He had never looked more exhausted. His breathing slowed like he was minutes away from sleep…or a relapse.

"Julian?"

There was no response or indication that the doctor heard him.

"Julian!"

Bashir blinked his eyes open, a faint smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

"I'm fine. Just tired, Chief. I knew I could get you to call me by my first name."

O'Brien gave a sigh of irritation, which made Bashir smile all the wider.

"Tell Garak to take his time. I'm going to get some sleep." The doctor yawned and shifted around on the sofa to get comfortable.

The Chief stood.

"I'll get Dax down here when I can. She'll be glad to see you're resting."

Bashir nodded and closed his dark ringed eyes. O'Brien observed his friend quietly for a moment. Bashir was lying there so peacefully. His dark hair was sticking up on end and he was curled up in the blanket like a child. O'Brien turned on his heel and left the room, unaware that he was curling his right hand into a fist. He vowed to himself that whoever had done this would pay.

* * *

Garak eventually came back for his organization of his shop. He had repaired what had needed mending, and had taken the time to snoop into Odo's investigation by hacking into his computer base. There was only circumstantial evidence at this point and no prime suspects.

The tailor had entered his quarters to find O'Brien long gone and Bashir fast asleep. No alarms had been tripped and nothing was out of place. The security guards were still standing guard outside his quarters.

Garak set down his stitching equipment. He had very little use for sewing by hand, but occasionally he would have to use a gossamer-like fabric that did not react well to being fed into a machine. It would crimp and bunch up unless it was handled with care. A Bajoran widow that was fond of his work had taken a liking to brightly colored, filmy veils. He had taken a veil home with him to hem so that he could stitch and guard Bashir simultaneously.

Bashir had stirred a little when he entered the bedchamber. The doctor reached for the blanket that he must have kicked off. The tailor noticed with displeasure that Julian's hands were still wracked with fine tremors. Garak quickly and quietly assisted by shoving the corner of the blanket into his hand and then he went to go stand far away from what would be an inevitably grumpy waking humanoid. To his surprise, Bashir had eyed him with faint amusement. Garak surmised that O'Brien must have managed to lift his spirits.

"Garak, I'm fine. Don't you start fussing now. It doesn't fit with my perception of you as a cold, hardened spy." The doctor said quietly.

Garak chuckled softly.

"My dear doctor, surely you have seen past that transparent pretense."

"I thought that your amiable tailor persona was your pretense?

"Ah, there is a mystery there, I have no doubt. But for now I would advise you to rest. It seems to be one of the many things humans are in constant need of."

The tailor told the computer to lower the lights on his way out. He came right up to the door when he heard Bashir speak again. The doctor's voice was worn, like metal scraping harshly against a surface. He spoke haltingly.

"I'm…not a weakling."

Garak sighed. He had been expecting this topic to arise. Bashir was proud of his self-sufficient lifestyle, as a true Cardassian might be. Julian was a stubborn and an indomitable human being, but he was not a Cardassian. To hear him speak and act as such was interesting, but hardly appropriate. Garak slowly turned around and walked back to Bashir's side. The officer was looking at him with challenging, slightly hooded eyes. The shadows around his eye sockets were deep and his face was still gaunt and thin. He had never looked more fragile.

"Therein lies the problem. You are not indestructible, doctor, nor are you able to live apart from your fellow humans. You must balance your life to seek and accept assistance, as well as shun it on occasion. To do one or the other consistently is considered a flaw of human nature."

"Meaning that I am accepting too much assistance?" Bashir concluded bitterly.

Garak made a frustrated noise.

"Use the deductive skills that I have taught you. What has your presence here shown you? Does it seem like I think you are intruding into my time? Am I giving any indications that I think your illness is a trifle?"

"No."

"Well, there seems to be your answer."

The door chimed and Bashir's comm on the side table chirped simultaneously.

Both of them seemed to jump a little at the interruption, but Garak appeared thankful that the uncomfortable conversation had ceased.

"Lieutenant Dax here to see Bashir."

The doctor fumbled for the comm and answered.

"Let her in."

Dax came in, hesitating briefly on the threshold of the tailor's rooms. She could not say that she had ever been inside Garak's quarters before. The living space was attractively wide open with some of the same graceful Cardassian architecture that adorned the Commander's office.

"Julian?"

"In the room on the left, Jadzia."

She came in, holding a potted plant in her elegant hands. It was a miniaturized fern, with fronds that held a reddish hue. Bashir smiled as soon as he saw her. She glanced around, noting the spacious bedroom and her friend curled up on the couch. Garak was there, but not looking particularly happy with either of them. He raised an eye ridge when he saw her plant.

"Keiko sent me with a Bajoran fern. You aren't allergic, are you?" She looked questioningly at the Cardassian.

"Not at all. I'll let you have some time alone."

The tailor stepped out, leaving Jadzia to talk to the doctor. Jadzia did not speak at first, but became busy by settling the fern nearby and arranging the delicate fronds to stand up in a more attractive display. She seemed to be taking in the room's surroundings and Bashir's appearance without making her inspection obvious. Eventually, she started talking.

"No new leads yet, and the delayed traffic is pushing us to further the investigation quickly. The Chief mentioned that you asked specifically for me."

"Am I not supposed to ask for a visit from a good friend?" Bashir smirked.

"Of course not-I mean its fine that you asked for me. I suppose that I'm just surprised." Her piercing blue eyes surveyed him.

"And suspicious?"

"And suspicious." She confirmed.

"Well don't be. I just wanted to see you." He looked endearingly at her in a way that helped alleviate some of her anxiety.

"Besides, it isn't like I can investigate from my sickbed. Garak won't let me near a PADD without a valid excuse. He keeps on insisting that I need to rest." The doctor added.

"Good."

"You didn't have to say that quite that emphatically." Bashir grumbled.

"Yes I do. I've been watching you work yourself into the ground this past week. I'm entitled to agree with Garak."

Bashir sighed.

"Everyone seems to be ganging up on me."

"Then everyone must have a good reason for it." She smiled and arranged the blanket up higher over him. "I should go. You need more rest."

"Tell Keiko thank you for the fern. It was a nice thought."

Dax turned back to face him, eyes sparkling with affection.

"Of course."

She turned, exiting to go past Garak in the main chamber.

As soon as she left the room, Bashir's tremors worsened. He felt his heart skip a beat as his theories were confirmed. Just as he had been expecting, abdominal pain started shooting through him, and his nausea increased. He noted that his arms were once again discolored. He reached for his comm badge. His arm brushed against the potted fern, pushing it to the edge of the table. As soon as his hand closed over the cold metal, the pot fell and shattered.


	5. Chapter 5

"Lieutenant Dax was carrying traces of the poison targeted to attack the doctor's system on her uniform. We've asked her to write a list of the people she's been in contact with this past week. Constable Odo is helping her narrow the search." The nurse informed Commander Sisko.

The Commander shook his head solemnly.

"To think that someone was able to leave the powder on her uniform without her noticing… It is an impressive feat."

"Lieutenant Dax is a vigilant Trill, but not even a joined Trill is infallible." The nurse agreed.

"How is Bashir?"

"The doctor's body had quite a shock. We had to put him in a temporary stasis until we can repair most of the damage. He would have undergone organ failure, but we brought him here in the nick of time."

There was a scuffling noise from outside the infirmary and the door slid open to admit several struggling security guards who were keeping ahold of a murderous looking Garak and an outraged Dr. Harcourt. Garak was trying to squirm out of their hold, hands curled into grasping claws. He looked positively predatory. The Starfleet doctor was trying to shy away from him, and yet he seemed seriously affronted. Harcourt turned his attention to Sisko.

"Commander! Thank the prophets you're here! This insane Cardassian attacked me without provocation outside my quarters."

"I would have done a lot more than attack you if security hadn't intervened. You nearly weren't so lucky." The former spy hissed at him.

"That's enough! Release Dr. Harcourt. Mr. Garak, explain your actions." Sisko barked at them.

"This man is your poisoner! He has the knowledge of what Dr. Bashir is susceptible to. What is more, at his last stop before this station, he came in contact with traders from the Terutan planetary system. I even managed to find and contact the Romulan who sold the substance to him. He will confirm Dr. Harcourt as the one who purchased it."

"He's lying!" Dr. Harcourt fumed.

"Ha! I even have the proof of purchase right here." Garak waved a PADD in front of them.

The doctor's face went white and he turned to Sisko. The Commander's expression had darkened as he looked from the tailor to the doctor. Sisko's gaze was clear and sharp. Harcourt started to plead.

"I didn't know what the substance did! I thought it was something that would serve as a harmless prank like itching powder or something childish. The man who paid me to do this was Julian's old school chum. How was I to know it was deadly to Julian?"

"Dr. Bashir told me that you kept on asking after his health! Itching powder, bah! I hope you have a more believable excuse prepared for your court martial." Garak sneered.

"It was Mr. Antes who wanted the substance planted near him. Antes left the academy, but he got into contact with me two weeks ago. He was Bashir's closest friend. I swear that I did not know he was trying to kill him. The substance is harmless when it is in contact with human beings; I don't know why he should react differently to it."

Sisko looked thunderous.

"Take Harcourt to a holding cell. Mr. Garak, stay here."

With a smug smirk, the Cardassian watched the guards guide the panicked doctor to Odo's security office. Harcourt was still pleading his innocent involvement, but it seemed that no one was listening to him. The Cardassian turned to the Commander, giving him an appreciative nod. Sisko did not react to the tailor's regard, instead, he asked for confirmation of Garak's evidence.

"I want the name of the Romulan who sold it to him."

"Of course."

"I'll take that PADD to give to Odo for additional evidence." Sisko reached for the device.

"I don't think my next season's cloth orders will have much weight in Harcourt's court martial." Garak smiled.

The Commander stared. Then, he gave a slight appreciative chuckle.

"You were just trying to get a confession from him."

Garak smirked in response.

"I'm sure Dr. Bashir will be pleased when he hears that we've caught the man responsible. I'm aware that he was Bashir's mentor, but Dr. Bashir would agree we have to bring him to trial. He might even agree to testify against him. I still can't believe that such a decorated Starfleet doctor like Harcourt would stoop so low. He was a healer. He took the Hippocratic Oath!

"An oath can always be broken, Commander." Garak said, a strange tone underlying his words. The Cardassian seemed lost in thought.

The Commander nodded. He watched as Garak's gaze roved over the contents in the sickbay as if looking for something.

"They have him in stasis."

Garak nodded. He swallowed, but then plastered on a look of false cheer.

"I am certain that he will surprise us yet with his stamina. Commander, I would suggest that you join Lieutenant Dax. I saw her just outside and she looked as though she might appreciate your company. If it will alleviate her conscience, tell her that the vital clue to this charade came from my observation of her with Harcourt this morning."

Sisko gave him a grateful smile.

"I'm appreciative of the help you've given us today, Mr. Garak. I think I will make a point of it to stop by your shop for my next dress uniform."

"It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Commander." The Cardassian nodded to him.

The tailor waited until the station commander left and then walked into a back room towards the ICU section. He found Bashir attended by a nurse monitoring his condition and a Bajoran doctor reading through Bashir's medical history. The Cardassian stood unobtrusively by the doorway as they recorded data about their patient and treated Julian. The Bajoran doctor had given him a nod, a nonverbal agreement to let him stay and watch. The friendly ambiance between Bashir and Garak was well known.

Sighing heavily, Garak watched them as they treated Bashir with their Starfleet medical handheld devices and hyposprays. He pondered that it would it would take a lot more than a few shots of medicine to get Bashir back up on his feet again. Perhaps he could assist in his own way.

* * *

_2 weeks later…_

The largest waterfalls on Bajor were in the heart of the capital. The site drew thousands of tourists to Bajor after the occupation, and it helped bring in a swift income to the war torn planet. Garak had mentioned it to the doctor, informing him that the poem he had enjoyed had indeed been inspired by that particular spot.

Garak and Bashir had asked for a runabout to go visit the falls. It was a long shot to ask, due to the fact that frivolous transportation for a civilian and an officer off duty was hardly a Starfleet purgative. To their surprise, Commander Sisko had just smiled and told them to have a good trip.

Bashir was nearly recovered, but would grow fatigued easily. He was under strict orders to stay off the duty roster until he could stand for long periods of time, which could take about another week. He found things to do in his spare time when he was not sleeping. He would play darts with Miles or color with Molly to give Keiko a break. But, for the majority of the time, he would sleep, and the doctor slept positively everywhere. He slept in the holosuites, Garak's shop, O'Brien's couch, and even once in Sisko's office. The Commander had later confessed that Bashir had looked so exhausted that Sisko did not have the heart to wake him.

To the doctor's shame, he found out that he had started nodding off at the runabout's controls while he piloted them to Bajor. Garak had to swiftly take over. The flight had been so peaceful that he almost slept through their landing. Bashir became more aware and excited in anticipation of seeing the waterfalls he had read about not long before the whole poisoning fiasco had started. He mused that it would be interesting to see what had inspired the stern, militia-like Cardassians. Garak was traveling in clothes that helped disguise his features so they did not draw too much attention. The Bajorans were still not inclined to trust the Cardassians so close to the center of their government.

Bashir and Garak had managed to find a landing pad that put them close to the falls and they took a local transport to the overlook. By then, the doctor was drumming his fingers impatiently on his armrest, but with a smile on his face. Garak had kept his hood drawn up, but had become more relaxed in the mix of different species traveling to the same destination.

When they got off the transport, Bashir all but ran to the scenic overlook, leaving Garak to shuffle quickly after him. A network of pathways and trails twisted around the natural rock formations, providing ample viewing spots for the tourists. Bashir had picked a secluded pavilion on the cliffs for the both of them. They looked on with wonder at what was considered to be the treasure of Bajor.

Thousands of gallons of water gushed over the cliffs to plunge far down into the pool of sparkling and frothing green. The waters roared in a continual wave of sound that nearly obliterated every other noise. Bashir clutched the cold, wet railing on the overlook, transfixed with awe. He heard Garak step up beside him and watch the waters churn and splash. The Cardassian was silent, breath misting as he exhaled in the cool atmosphere. Bahsir turned to him, smiling fondly.

"The view is amazing, isn't it, Garak? All that water gushing down and the mist fogging up the air."

"Indeed. I can certainly see the inspiration that it provided for Cardassians to write poems during the occupation." The tailor mused.

"I never would have believed it possible for Cardassians to be inspired by art or poetry, but your species is much more artistic than I could give you credit for. In fact, I'll wager you that you're thinking about color schemes for outfits that are waterfall inspired."

"I would take you up on that wager, but I am afraid you would lose. I was thinking about that an hour ago."

"What are you thinking about then?"

Garak blinked at him. Bashir was standing there, grinning at him. He looked as hale and happy as he had been when they had first met. Bashir had been so awkward then, so skittish.

"I was thinking about impermanence, and how quickly things change."

"That isn't necessarily a bad thing." Bashir looked back at the falls, still standing companionably close to Garak.

The doctor seemed completely comfortable in his presence. He did not appear to regard the Cardassian with suspicion or even intrigue about his mystique. Instead, he was enjoying the view with him, in the same manner a close friend would. It was so very different from how they used to regard each other.

"No, I suppose not." Garak murmured.

* * *

The End.

* * *

A/N: I hope that ending wasn't too disappointing. *runs* Thanks for reading.


End file.
